by Tara Wyatt
BetaTestAccount23: Sure.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Okay, so here’s me asking for accountability. I’m officially determined to get over the guy I told you about. I need to move on because I learned a little bit about his past tonight and it’s just never going to happen.
BetaTestAccount23: What did you learn?
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I’d rather keep that private, but let’s just say his whole emotionally unavailable thing isn’t going to change any time soon. So. Officially declaring that I’m moving on.
BetaTestAccount23: Like I said before, it’s his loss.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: That’s sweet, but you don’t even know what I look like.
BetaTestAccount23: It doesn’t matter. I’ve been talking to you for two weeks now, and I know that you’re sweet, and warm, and caring, and funny. You’re smart and dorky in a really cute way. Maybe it’s the compatibility talking, but I think you’re great.
BetaTestAccount23: So any guy who doesn’t want to be with you is an absolute moron, Princess.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: You think I’m cute?
BetaTestAccount23: I think you’re fucking adorable.
BetaTestAccount23: I have to go. Talk later, okay?
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Okay. Night.
Willa tossed her phone down on the bed and flopped against her pillows, all of the air bursting out of her lungs. Just when she felt like she was getting somewhere with Mr. 23, he pulled away. Which was probably a good thing, because she needed that reminder that he wasn’t exactly available either. At least he’d been honest about that. Funny how she’d only ever texted with him, but she felt like he was easier to read than Max, who she saw face to face on an almost daily basis. Who’d been inside her. Who knew what she tasted like, what she looked like when she came.
The rain had gentled, pattering against her bedroom window softly now, and she stared at it, letting the sound soothe her as two questions looped through her mind on repeat.
What had happened to Max?
Who was Mr. 23?
10
For the third day in a row rain drenched the city, hammering against windows, leaving puddles on sidewalks, running in rivulets down streets. The entire city smelled damp in the unrelenting rain, that petrichor smell of wet concrete permeating the air. The rain was supposed to wash everything clean, but instead it just made the dirt wet. Everything was soggy and messy, and complaining about it had become everyone’s favorite thing to do over the past couple of days.
Not that Max cared. The rain suited him and his dark mood, which had gripped him ever since he’d walked out on Willa in her office after she’d told him she wanted him. Which was a thrilling thought, but not one he could ever indulge. She only wanted him because she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know who he really was. He knew what she saw, what they all saw: a rich, good looking guy with an expensive penthouse and a six pack. When he wanted sex, he had no problem finding it.
And yet…he knew it wasn’t like that with Willa, as much as he tried to group her in with other women he’d had casual hook ups with. She was special. Different. Under his skin in a way that was totally foreign to him. And he knew it was because he cared about her.
More than cared about her, if he was honest. Willa made her feel things he hadn’t known he’d been capable of feeling, and it felt as though the ground were shifting beneath his feet, leaving him off balance. She’d pulled him in right from the start with her warmth and intelligence and humor. With her delicate, untouchable beauty. And then he’d almost lost her the night of the home invasion. That night, he would’ve done absolutely anything for her, and he had. He’d slept with her when he had no business touching her. No fucking right. But he’d done it anyway, and sometimes he tried to delude himself into thinking that he’d had sex with her because she’d asked, because it was what she’d needed after the horrifying experience she’d had. But he knew that wasn’t the full story. She’d asked, and he’d been more than willing.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that she was everything. She was. She was everything he thought about, everything he craved, everything he longed for. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about her. That he didn’t think about them, together in his bed. That he didn’t imagine a future that would never, ever happen.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself the small luxury of imagining how things could’ve gone differently in her office, when she’d told him she’d wanted him. He imagined locking her office door and then sitting her on her desk, kissing her until neither of them could breathe. Until kissing wasn’t enough. He’d spread her out on her desk, tugging her to the edge and with her legs around his hips, he’d bury himself inside her, over and over again, his fingers working her pretty little clit until she came around him, clawing at his arms, legs shaking as she screamed his name…
His dick twitched and he forced himself to push it all away. He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked the time. It was after eight and everyone else had long gone home, but he’d stayed to catch up on work. Stayed because there was nothing for him in his empty penthouse. He dragged his attention back to the lines of code in front of him, telling himself this was what he wanted, to get lost in a project, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was Willa.
Willa kissing him. Moving underneath him. Telling him she’d wanted him for a long time.
Images filled his mind, so bright and intense that he could’ve sworn he smelled her, here, now. The delicate, light floral of the perfume she always wore, it was right there, right at the edge of his senses. Wrenching his mind back under control, he forced himself to remember the hurt in her eyes the morning after. A few days ago in her office. The hope that he kept smothering because that was who he was, and the sooner she learned that, the better. It didn’t matter how he felt about her. She couldn’t be his.
The thought sent a pang slicing through him, like he’d been stabbed between the ribs, and with a grunt he pushed away from the desk and stood, crossing his office to a cabinet in the corner. Opening it, he pulled out a bottle of scotch and a glass, then took them both back with him to his desk. He couldn’t stand this longing anymore. This wanting, this needing. Numbness beckoned.
He poured himself a generous glass and drank it down in one gulp, then poured himself another. It cut a warming path down the center of his chest, some of the tension ebbing out of his neck and shoulders. And yet with every breath, with every passing second, there she was. Willa.
And so he did something he hadn’t done in a long time, even though he was no stranger to torturing himself. Setting the glass down on his desk, he unlocked the very bottom drawer, pulled out the slender box he kept there, and opened it.
It was a necklace, the last gift he’d ever given Sophia. He remembered picking it out, choosing the white gold chain with the diamond and sapphire star-shaped pendant at the end. Looking back, he knew it was an apology for not buying her the engagement ring she wanted. A consolation prize.
Sophia hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d only wanted to be loved. And he hadn’t given that to her because he was fucked up and toxic and a cold bastard.
And now she was dead because of him. Because of what she’d wanted that he couldn’t give.
He lifted the necklace from the box, letting the jeweled facets catch the light. Her family had insisted he keep it, as a memento, and so he had, but not because of the fond memories it held. He kept it as a reminder of who he was and the devastation he was capable of, given the chance.
If he hadn’t been so broken, so damaged, Sophia would still be alive, and that was a fact.
Still holding the necklace, he picked up his glass and drained it again. He went back and forth between wanting to feel the pain of what he’d done and just wanting to be numb. To not feel anything anymore because it all hurt too fucking much.
Setting his empty glass down, he stood and walked to the windows lining the back wall of his office, the necklac
e still in hand. With the chain looped around his fingers, the pendant dangled free, winking at him. Glittering darkly with the truth of who he was and what he’d done.
Rain hit the windows in a rhythmic pattering, obscuring his view of everything below. Lights shone like smeared stars, the cars and taxis below nothing but inching specs.
Sophia would never feel the rain on her face again because of him. Because she’d just wanted to be loved and he couldn’t do it.
“Max?”
He turned, his heart vaulting into high gear at the sound of Willa’s voice. She stood several steps inside his office doorway, a wet umbrella in her hands dripping onto the floor. At the sight of her, his stomach tightened and his pulse hammered in his temples. For half a second, the emotion that gripped him was pure euphoria.
Which was fucking terrifying because he’d never felt anything remotely close to that whenever he’d looked at Sophia. Never. He hadn’t loved her and look at the damage he’d done. What would he do to someone he…no. No.
Willa’s eyes had zeroed in on the necklace and for a second, he felt pinned in place by those enormous hazel eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, taking another tentative step into his office. Her gaze flitted back and forth between him and the pendant dangling from his fingers.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, sitting back down in his chair. He dropped the necklace back into the box and put it back in its drawer, closing it harder than was necessary.
She flinched slightly but didn’t back away. “I forgot my wallet in my office,” she said quietly.
He swallowed, his jaw tight. Not saying anything because he was too busy fighting an internal tug of war. He wanted her to stay, but he needed her to leave. Now.
She took another small step forward. “Are you okay?”
“Leave it, Willa,” he said, his voice a low warning. Refusing to look at her, he poured himself another drink and took a healthy sip. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I just wanted to see if you were alright,” she said, her voice soft, careful.
“You shouldn’t waste your time caring about me.” His tone was rough, cold, even as his heart squeezed painfully at having to push her away again.
She moved forward, walking slowly until she stood directly in front of his desk, her face pale, almost glowing. “But I do care about you, Max. And I don’t see that as a waste of time.” Heat radiated through his chest at her words, so he took another drink, trying to drown it. He shook his head and took another drink. He couldn’t let it matter that she cared about him, because he could feel his walls crumbling around her. Could feel the rise of that intense emotion only she’d ever been able to elicit in him, making him want to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her.
“What was that necklace?” she asked, her voice piercing through his fog of scotch and self-loathing.
“Get out.” Nostrils flaring, he ground out the two syllables between clenched teeth.
She reached out, her delicate fingers curling in the air. “I didn’t mean—”
“I said get out!” he snarled, anger and fear knotting together inside him. “Get out!”
Her eyes went wide as they filled with tears, a tremor coursing through her. “Fuck you, Max. You’re an asshole.”
Finally, she saw the truth. Good.
She turned and stalked out of his office, her shoulders rigid. The door slammed behind her, echoing through the empty space. He was alone again, just like he deserved. He was an asshole, and he wanted to feel relieved that Willa knew it now too. But he didn’t. All he felt was hollow. A wave of nausea rocked him and he stood from his desk, pacing again to the window, taking his glass of scotch with him. He knew it wouldn’t help the turmoil in his stomach, but he didn’t care. He took a sip and sucked in a breath, trying to get a handle on the emotions rocketing through him. But they were slippery like eels and kept slithering through his fingers until everything he was feeling coalesced into one awful, terrifying truth.
He was in love with Willa Banks. And definitely not in any kind of healthy way because this love wasn’t sweet and tender. It was needy and possessive and brutal.
“Fuck!” He whirled and threw his glass against the wall, watching as it shattered into a hundred pieces, leaving shards of glass scattered across the floor. He dropped into his chair and slumped forward, his head in his hands.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Hey, you’ve been pretty quiet for a couple of days, so I just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing. Everything cool?
BetaTestAccount23: Yeah, sorry. Just busy with work and stuff. How are you?
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I’ve been better. Remember how I said I was determined to get over that guy?
BetaTestAccount23: Yeah.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Well, I’m definitely over him now. Turns out he’s a *giant* asshole.
BetaTestAccount23: Shit. I’m sorry, Princess.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: It’s okay. It’s for the best, honestly. He was already totally emotionally unavailable and then he practically took my head off for daring to be nice to him, so I’m done. So, so done.
BetaTestAccount23: He sounds like a real piece of work.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: He is.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: God, I feel guilty saying these things about him. Because I know that deep down, he’s not a bad person. He’s just hurting over something he doesn’t seem to want to let heal.
BetaTestAccount23: That’s very generous of you.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Is it? I think almost everyone has good in them. Sometimes it’s just buried and you have to look a little harder for it.
BetaTestAccount23: But you’re still moving on, right? This is me, your internet friend, holding you accountable.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Oh, yeah. Still moving on. And thanks. You’re a good internet friend, Mr. 23.
BetaTestAccount23: I have my moments.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Indeed you do. Anyway. Let’s talk about something happier.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: What’s your absolute favorite memory?
BetaTestAccount23: Hmm. I need to think about it for a minute.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Take your time. I’m literally doing nothing but cleaning my apartment right now.
BetaTestAccount23: You party animal.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I know. I’m wild! But in truth, I love it when my space is freshly cleaned. It feels so calm and serene.
BetaTestAccount23: Scrubbing toilets makes you feel serene?
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Maybe not while I’m doing it, but after, yes. It does.
BetaTestAccount23: Okay, so there are two memories that come to mind, but now that I think about it, they’re quite similar.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I’m all ears. Eyes? Anyway, go ahead.
BetaTestAccount23: The first one is from when I was little, maybe 7 or 8. I have two older siblings, a sister 7 years older than me and a brother 8 years older. So they would’ve been maybe 14 and 15. Something like that.
BetaTestAccount23: I remember it was a Saturday in June and things were bad at home. Our parents were fighting a lot and things were tense. So they took me and my younger brothers, who would’ve been maybe 6 and 4 at the time, to Coney Island for the day.
BetaTestAccount23: I remember spending what felt like hours building a sandcastle (that my younger brother destroyed) and walking down the boardwalk where we played those dumb carnival games and ate hot dogs and ice cream. Then they took us to a baseball game and I fell asleep on my brother’s lap on the subway on the way home.
BetaTestAccount23: It was just a really great day, and our parents never did anything like that with us. But it was like it mattered to my brother and sister that we were happy and cared for. Thinking back, they were just kids too, but they tried to make sure we had fun.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: That’s a really nice memory! And you’re still close with your siblings now, right?
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BetaTestAccount23: I am. They’re spread across the country now and I miss them.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: What was the other memory that came to mind?
BetaTestAccount23: When I was 15 I was still overweight. I hadn’t started working out or eating properly yet, and I got picked on a lot for it. For a while, my nickname was Meatball.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.
BetaTestAccount23: My older brother knew about the bullying and one day, he came to pick me up from school. He would’ve been 22 then, and he had this awesome sports car. He asked me who was picking on me and literally drove at him. He almost ran him down, chasing him with his car across the school lawn. Then he stopped, rolled down his window and told the kid “leave my brother the fuck alone or next time I’ll actually try to hit you.”
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Wow. That’s…he sounds like kind of a badass.
BetaTestAccount23: He is. And you know what? They left me alone after that. I think they were scared of him.
BetaTestAccount23: But I realized, as I was typing all of this out, that the common thread is that both times I felt cared for. I felt loved and safe and worth something, because of my siblings. I didn’t have much of that from my parents, so I guess that’s why those moments stick out to me.
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: That’s really sweet. I’m so glad you have that relationship with them now.
BetaTestAccount23: Me too. So, what’s your favorite memory?
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: My birthday is in December, close to Christmas, which kind of sucks, but when I was 5 my mom started this tradition of taking me to see the Nutcracker every year for my birthday. We’d get manicures and get all dolled up with dresses and perfume and then go to the matinee. Then she’d take me for hot chocolate after and it was always the loveliest day. And it just made my birthday feel special because not everyone gets to watch the Nutcracker for their birthday, you know?
BetaTestAccount23: Do you still go?